On The Courtyard Steps
by KellerTur
Summary: "It's beautiful, isn't it?" He looked to her for an explanation and saw her eyes cast skyward, where in the cloudless heavens, the moon was waning. Missing scene from HBP. After the hospital scene, Remus seeks out Tonks on the courtyard steps, and they recount where things went so wrong for them and their relationship. Flashbacks to OoTP. A few adult references. RLNT Oneshot.


The castle was so much quieter than he remembered, and Remus met no one as he passed through the shadows. He lingered at the staircase, deliberating. Deciding that after that incident before, a moment that made him redden in shame, fresh air was the most preferable remedy sought by all.

As he approached the foot of the stairs, he found a sight which makes his stomach writhe, sitting on the cold courtyard steps. She was clutching her knees to her chest, gazing out into the inky tangle of the grounds. As he got closer, Tonks didn't turn, as his footsteps bore his signature she'd come to know so well. He deliberated a moment, before taking a spot a few feet away. He could just see her pale face, one he thought he knew, set in a stillness he'd rarely witnessed. No drumming fingers, no tapping feet. Just simply breathing in the breeze.

He grasped for words in the void, but for once, came up short. Apologies and excuses swirled around his brain, jumbled together and incoherent. But then quietly like a bell chime, her soft voice broke the peace.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He looked to her for an explanation, and saw her eyes cast skyward, where in the cloudless heavens, the moon was waning.

He stared at it, pondering her words. It was never a sight that instilled joy in him, and she knew it. He considered it for a moment, casting it's glow down on their frightful scene. He gave her a quick glance, and answered honestly, "I never thought of it like that."

She breathed a soft chuckle, smiling a little serenely. "I suppose I should hate it really, but I can't."

Silence once again engulfed them, threatening to drown everything out. He was uncertain how she'd react, at the moment. It's been so long since they were alone together, his memory seemed so detached now, so foreign from the woman sat beside him.

"I want to apologise. I embarrassed you back there."

Taking him by surprise, she continued to chuckle, adding to his unease. "Once again, you insist on trying to do the things I should to be doing," she smiled. She was always doing that, he thought. She'd laugh at the most unusual times. While she was brushing her teeth, or peeling the carrots. She'd laugh whenever she felt like it, as if remembering a long forgotten joke. He never understood it, but he was enamored by it all the same, like she was bursting with too much joy to possibly contain it all.

The frigid stone beneath sent a shiver through him, and he grimaced, picturing the hospital wing once again. She still wasn't looking at him, and he persisted with his apology. "It wasn't fair, to do that, in front of everyone."

A cold wind rumpled her hair slightly, and she mumbled, "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it matters," he said, eyeing her face for a reaction. For one that's so capable of an array, it was eerily blank.

"Why is it important," she asked wearily, "If you're sorry? If I forgive you or not? I mean, who am I to you?" She said these words to the air, refusing to meet his stare. They cut through him hard, and his resolve slowly started to ebb away.

"Nymphadora-."

She jerked her head slightly in annoyance. "Don't call me that," she snapped over her shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably on the stone step.

"You never minded before," he muttered before he could bite down on the impulse. It was barely louder than the rustling trees, but he knew she'd heard it, because she turned to face him. His eyes lingered over hers, sunken, somber and devoid of the energy he'd grown to cherish. There was no humour in her face, no smile on her lips, and she looked older than he'd ever seen her.

"Things change," she said coldly, before turning back to stare into nothingness. They sat together alone, for quite a long time. He didn't dare speak another word, digging himself an even bigger hole he couldn't hope to escape from. He stared out into the night, fighting the sick urge to just stand up and leave, again.

* * *

_As he paces around the candlelit room, she's not moved once. He realises he's been talking and talking, giving his reasons and severing the ties, and not once has he received a response. She's just observing, huddled among his bedding. He moves to his dresser, pulling out the few robes he owns, and hastily shoves them into his battered case. They have only a few hours to empty their rooms at Grimmauld Place, but Remus has even less. He needs to leave, now, and he's had to make a decision on what stays behind, and what he must take with him._

_"I'll not write," he says, rifling through the writing desk, "for obvious reasons, but please don't write to me. It's not necessary." Her eyes follow him around, narrowed in sourness. He's trying to make it easy, easy for everyone, but the authenticity shocks even himself._

_"Remus," she whispers, but he pretends he didn't hear. He makes small jerk with his arm, gesturing at his overflowing bookcase which is threatening to collapse from the weight. "Take any of those you want, but don't bother keeping them for me. I don't need them anymore."_

_She speaks his name again, but still he can't spare a glance at her. Her eyes are burning like the sun, and he carefully evades her rays. He shuts the lid hard on his case, and turns to leave the room. But suddenly, she's there, pushing into him. She's fighting hard, trying to hold back the tide that would surely wash them all away._

_"Why are you doing this, Remus?" she pleads, knotting her hands in the front of his cloak. "Whatever this is, it's not working. You can't just leave, after every-"_

_"I'm the only one who can do it, I have to go," he says, with much more conviction in his voice than in his soul. He means to leave through the door, and not look back, but she's not budging._

_"Just stay, stay for tonight, with me." She looks frenzied, eyes swimming with despair. "Sirius wouldn't have wanted you to-"_

_"Sirius is dead!" he says loudly, the cracked words cutting into him so bluntly. "Sirius is dead, and there's nothing we could do. What do you want me to say? You think I can stay here, with you, after that?" His ears are ringing, and he already wishes he could take it all back in. Her hands drop from his chest, and he realises how much he misses the warmth. She screws up her face in rage, and forgets to worry about the tears escaping down her cheeks._

_"Fine," she hisses, turning away with venom in her voice. "If you can't bear to stay here with me for another minute, leave."_

_"Nymphadora," he breaks his conviction, falling into a pitfall he'd long seen coming. Catching her sleeve, he murmurs, "I didn't mean it like th-"_

_"What are you still doing here, Lupin?" she asks wildly, pulling out of his grasp violently. She'd never called him that, and he knows he's finally broken her. She forcefully wipes at her eyes, and rounds on him. "Just leave! Get out, you obviously don't want to be here! But don't ever think," she spits with her finger poking him hard in the chest, "That this, what you're doing, is brave. It's not noble, or right, and you know it!" With his last memory of her, in smudged makeup and cold fury on her face, she whispers, "You're just a coward."_

_And then he's gone, he's down the stairs and she's slammed the door to muffle the cries. He can't turn back or undo all that he's done. He's committed to his unsure road, with it's victims laying crippled by the wayside._

* * *

After what seemed like an age, she spoke again, carrying on a conversation he didn't remember starting. "I've worked it out, you know," Tonks said lightly, as if discussing something mundane like the weather, "It's taken me a long time, but I know what's happening. You're trying to convince yourself of something that's not true. You _think_, you want to go back in time. A time that was easier. When we were just friends and it was all just fun and games between us. Or maybe further back, to before we'd even met."

"I don't ever want to forget you," he said mostly to himself, and she snorted with mirth.

"There you go again, saying things like that," she breathed through her sad smile, waving her hand in exasperation. But soon, her face fell back into one of indifference.

"I mean it."

After a moment, she continued, "I think you know, deep down, that what you're asking is not possible. It can't go back to what it was, those days are dead. You know it. And even if they weren't, it's not what I want. And it's not what you want, regardless of that bullshit you try and convince me is for the best. And now, if we can't go back, and you won't go forward, we're sort of, _stuck_." Her voice faltered on the last word, looking for the first time on the verge of breaching her tempered facade. In a past life, he would've reached out, comforted her. But now, all he could do was sit frozen, not daring to touch.

"Maybe it would've been better," Remus said quietly, "If I'd never come back from that place. If I'd died and you could forget all about me." He'd been thinking about it for a while, on his nights spent sleeping in undergrowth, taking in the stars.

"Please don't say that." She whispered, full of sorrow. He noticed she was staring at him now, as if she'd never seen him before. "Don't tell me you ever thought about that?"

His insides lurched with guilt, how he could always be counted on to say exactly what she didn't want to hear. Trying to play it off, he smiled slightly, "I thought you knew me by now, my penchant for self-deprecation."

But instead of smiling, she simply stared at him for a moment, before turning away. "I'm not sure if I do know you anymore," she said mournfully. It wasn't shouted or screamed, but it didn't need to be. Maybe she didn't know it, but it's the very worst thing she'd said to him. Something inside, buried for many long months, seemed to be stirring.

"You know me better than anyone," he admitted, biting his lip before taking a gamble, "and I like to think I know you."

"And what do you think you know about me?" Tonks asked him, and for the first time all evening, the words came effortlessly to hand.

"I know you're brave, and fierce, and you're trying so hard to be those things right now. I know you like three sugars in your coffee, you like the sea but hate the beach. Your favourite colour is blue, but you don't wear it in your hair because you think it makes you look peaky, but it doesn't. I know you're funny, and brilliant, and just, _good_. And I know those are exactly the reasons," he paused in a low voice, "why I could never deserve you." He could feel his heat in his cheeks and knew he was showing it. Beating his heart into submission was taking a lot of concentration, and so he jumped slightly when she abruptly stood up and drew her cloak around her.

"I don't want to argue anymore," she mumbled, defeated, "I'm tired of it. Nobody ever wins." She gave him one last fleeting glance before taking off down the rest of the steps.

"Tonks, wait!" He was on his feet too now, filled with a sudden fervor. He jumped down the last of the steps after her. He caught her sleeve, and she paused.

"You're right. Okay?" he panted, desperately, giving up his long charade. "You're right about all of it. Everything you said, it's true. I am a coward, I admit it. What else do you want me to say?"

Her eyes slid from wide with shock to anger. She scoffed bitterly, and then exclaimed, "I want you to be honest with yourself! Stop playing these games, and just say it! Either you love me or you don't-"

"Don't you ever," he uttered with an intensity never felt before, "_ever_ insinuate that I don't love you Nymphadora, because I do. I've always loved you."

His declaration echoed through the stretching seconds and seemed to reverberate around them. He looked down at her, the opaque moon reflected in her tear-filled eyes. "Isn't that a good enough reason?" she whispered.

He let go of her sleeve hastily, and stepped back. He'd said too much, said exactly what he'd promised himself he'd never do. Fear and shame welled up, as he answered, "It's not as simple as that."

"Do you hear yourself? Do you hear what you're saying? Do you understand what you're _doing_ to me?" she cried, turning to finally relinquish the emotion she'd suppressed all evening. He watched as a tear ran down her cheek, and he fought the urge to raise his hand and wipe it, when she brushed past him and soon disappeared amongst the shadows. He'd lost her again. Her footsteps died away and now he stood quite alone, breathing deeply through his nose, blinking fast until her ghost had vanished from his eyes.

* * *

_The chilly February showers sweep over them as they dash across the deserted square of Grimmauld Place, seeking refuge from the storm after their night patrol. In the dark, she splashes through the puddles carelessly, laughing boisterously and soaking the both of them. It's too easy for him to join in, seeing her pink hair plastered to her face, and she takes his hand in hers and pulls him up the steps. Inside, there's much shushing and silent giggles as they try to creep silent, unnoticed by paintings and Padfoot. They're dripping rainwater all over the carpet, but for once he doesn't seem to mind. It feels somewhat clandestine, he smiles, sneaking through the hallway in the middle of the night, especially with present company. He looks down, and she's still not let go of his hand. He savours the feeling of her cold fingers entwined with his, and he only relinquishes it at the staircase. Joking that he's worried about trip hazards, he knows he's deserving of every insult his mind throws out. He knows exactly what he is, stealing these moments from her, coveting them every night, contorting his memories to serve only himself. But she's giving him so many opportunities these days, he ponders. It's as if she knows she's playing with him, his emotions and his life, but she doesn't ever seem to realise._

_They reach the landing in the diminishing lamplight, and she daudles in front of his door. She's biting her lip hard, and after a heartbeat of consideration, she leans in closer than ever before, whispers, "Goodnight Remus," and kisses him gently on the cheek._

_He feels his flesh burn with feverish heat, and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. She pulls back slightly, looking at his face with a strange hunger in her eyes. He desperately searches hers, for confirmation, for permission, for some sort of mad reasoning for what game she's playing. But it's already too late, he realises, and he can't stop now, it's too much for him. He closes the gap again, and this time meets her lips._

_He's kissing her, and against all of his expectations, she's kissing him back. His mind can't seem to function under the absurdity of it. But his body feels like the most natural thing in the world. His hands are around her waist like they belong there, and her fingers thread into his hair as if they do this everyday, and they clatter loudly backwards through his bedroom door. The smell of rain is thick as he greedily kisses her neck, and her breathing is heavy in his ear. She's already fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, and they're peeling the sodden clothes of each other with haste. Their cold, wet skin clashes violently together with fire, and all he knows is that this is right, that she's there with him, kissing him, in his sheets, writhing underneath him in the dark. He lets everything happen, allows himself to be lost with her, not sparing a single thought for anything as stupid as logic or sense._

_By early morning, it's still drizzling lightly against the windows. The curtains had been forgotten, and they pore daylight into the room. Opening his eyes, he sees she's already awake and propped up in the many pillows next to him. Her pale face is still flushed, hair still fluffy from the assault of his hands and the rain._

_He's confused, blinking quickly to dispel the mirage. But she doesn't fade, and instead moves to rest her chin on his shoulder. He reaches to tuck the hair behind her ear, and he whispers throatily, "You're still here."_

_With an ever so slight roll of her eyes, she laughs, "Any reason why I shouldn't be?"_

_He swallows hard, looking down at her and contemplates. "Oh," he says with a disbelieving smile, "Just a thousand."_

* * *

The decision was made, and caution was thrown unceremoniously to the cool wind now hitting him in the face. The mud splattered his trouser legs, but he paid no heed in his stride. As he ran, he fumbled the crinkled letter in his fist, bearing her name, love, and where to find her. Passing the gates, he ran through them in his head like a mantra, _Nymphadora, Forever, Room 12_. It's been well versed by the campfire for the last year, and it now kept the fire lit beneath him. She'd ignored his request not to write just once, and after her first letter went unanswered, he'd agonised constantly at the absence of more. Has she done what he'd asked but not wanted, and moved on, forgotten him? Was he as good an actor as he prided himself as, stifling the passion in his voice when he spoke of her? Or had seen through him, as she often did, in ways he failed to comprehend? After tonight, he now knew he'd failed spectacularly in his task, and maybe it wasn't too late, yet.

Reaching the high street, he burst through the pub door unceremoniously, ignoring the gasps of surprise and laments of mourning. Oil lamps illuminated the doors at the top of the rickety stairs, and still panting for air, he found Room 12 at the end of the corridor. He'd already wasted so much time, and began hammering on it loudly.

"Nymphadora, it's me," he gasped, leaning on the door frame.

There was a small movement inside, then an even smaller voice called out, "Prove it."

He chuckled quite breathlessly, and realised that this particular mannerism was catching. Leaning in close, he answered the voice, "It _is_ a good enough reason."

The door opened slightly, and her pale face appeared through the crack. Through recent tears, her eyes roved over the dirt on his robes, his chest heaving with exhaustion. But they soon found his face, and as the door widened, she asked tentatively, "Really?"

But he'd already crossed the threshold, had taken her face in his hands, kissing her. This was his answer, to hold on to her for dear life and try to never let go. She kissed him back with all the fire she'd had burning inside for months, and he felt both their bodies loosen from the longheld restraint. He kissed her face, blotting out the tears he'd caused. His hands roved over her, craving everything she had.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her neck as her hands found themselves tangled in his hair, but she only shushed him, as she found his mouth again.

"Just promise me," she breathed between kisses, "promise me that you'll ne-"

"I promise," he whispered at once, not even needing to hear what she demanded. Because this was the path he'd chosen now, and he was going to do whatever he could to stay on it. He'd been fool enough before, but not now. His skin prickled at her touch, and her hands were quick in working their way back into him. After each piece of clothing was discarded, she clung to him tightly, terrified of letting go. Everything else was left unsaid, but through their laboured breathing, they muttered the same three words to each other, over and over. The battle had been lost long ago, as he inhaled her in deep and allowed himself again to be pulled under her spell. But then again, he thought when they fell onto her bed, it was never one he'd wanted to win.


End file.
